


Buckle Your Seatbelt

by well_grilled_toast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Accidents, Character Death, Human Castiel, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/well_grilled_toast/pseuds/well_grilled_toast





	Buckle Your Seatbelt

Dean stands in front of the stove, the smell of cooking chicken rising to his face. In the corner of the cramped kitchen, a small TV quietly shows the news.

Dean glances at the clock; Cas should be home from work soon. Dean flips the chicken in the pan, then turns the heat down slightly. He pauses for a moment to listen to the television.

“...highway, accident blocking traffic…”

The highway is the same one Cas takes home from work. Depending on when he left, Cas could be stopped in traffic or beyond the accident. Dean grabs his phone and texts Cas: saw an accident on the news, you stuck behind it?

Dean moves the chicken off the burner, placing a lid on the pan to trap the heat. He opens the oven door and pokes one of the potatoes inside with a fork, deciding to wait a few more minutes before he removes them.

A quick glance at his phone shows Cas has not texted back yet. Cas is later than usual, but it does not worry Dean. He decides to send another text anyway: gonna be home soon?

On the TV, the screen shows an aerial view of the accident. A large semi is tipped over near a crushed silver car. Dean winces; although the screen does not offer a clear view of the scene, it looks bad.

“The vehicles involved were a semi truck and a silver Pontiac,” says a reporter.

_Pontiac?_ Dean thinks. Dean picks up his phone and calls Cas, pushing back feelings of panic. He hears only a pre-recorded voicemail.

“Cas, babe, don’t do this,” whispers Dean. He dials again, and is again greeted with Castiel’s chipper “sorry, can’t answer the phone right now.”

“Cas, don’t do this,” Dean repeats. He calls over and over, getting no answer each time. Cas is now forty minutes late. Dean continues to stare at the TV as he presses the call button again.

“There appear to be no survivors in the collision,” says a female reporter on the side of the highway.

Dean knows the odds are against it, but he clings to the hope that it is not Castiel’s silver Pontiac on the screen, that there are merely a few harmless coincidences preventing Cas from answering his phone. As the woman continues to talk, Dean’s phone buzzes in his hand. He answers it on the first ring with a hopeful, “Cas?” without even waiting to check the caller ID.

Dean’s hopes are instantly crushed when he does not recognize the voice on the other end. He listens intently, his expression changing to utter despair. Finally Dean chokes out, “Okay, bye.” He begins to sob, crumpling to the floor. Dean’s worst fears were confirmed: it was him. Cas died.   


End file.
